


rainbow frappuccino rumpus coffee town

by saezutte



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, F/M, Humanstuck, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 08:17:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saezutte/pseuds/saezutte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Davina Strider, lonely girl barista, meets a blind weirdo at the coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rainbow frappuccino rumpus coffee town

**Author's Note:**

> My cool kid friend Brooke (DaughteroftheWest on here) requested some Daverezi genderswap a few months ago. I somehow ended up writing a short Girl!Dave/Boy!Human!Terezi coffee shop AU BECAUSE WHY THE HECK NOT?

Your name is DAVINA STRIDER but everyone calls you DAVE except your bro who calls you LIL SIS even though you remind him every time he calls that you’re not little anymore, you’re fucking twenty years old and making it on your own in the Big City like that damn sexy Mary Tyler Whatever you used to see when you were watching TV Land ironically. Your Bro chuckles, because he’s a dick (cool, but still a dick), and asks if you’ll come home this weekend to do his laundry. You yell into the phone, “I’m not your maid, you fucking sexist prick, you’re like thirty goddamn years old” even though you’re sure you’d have to be the responsible adult Strider even if you weren’t a girl.

You work at a coffee shop COFFEE TOWN on campus at the public university where you take classes in music and business administration, which is a front for your real intention in moving out of your Bro’s place to live on your own: to build up buzz about your sick beats, which you spin at various clubs around the city as many nights a week as you can spare without failing out. You’re a busy lady, finishing up demos, subtly handing them to people while pretending to be too legit for self-promotion, running so many awesome websites that you estimate you generate 50% of the internet’s total ironic humor, but you’re embarrassed to admit you haven’t made any close friends around here. You still talk to the same three internet losers you met in junior high. Maybe someday you’ll meet them irl.

Everybody who comes into the coffee shop is an uncool douchey frat bro of the worst caliber. You wish your Bro lived closer by so he could drop in and make fun of them with you. They’re fun to party with sometimes, as long as they’re treating you like one of the guys, but, if you’re being honest with yourself, you need someone who is at least half as smart as you (TT) or twice as goofily entertaining (EB) (GG probably being both, but seriously, that girl is too strange to tell which.) 

Another customer steps up to the counter and you say, “yo can i help you?”

This douchebag licks his fucking lips like a total weirdo. He’s wearing red sunglasses that you have to admit are cool even though you and Bro have the market fucking locked on wearing sunglasses inside and even though he appears to be a total fucking creep. You suspect he’s about to make a pass at you and adjust your uniform-regulated coffee shop cap over your long blonde ponytail so it doesn’t fly off when you’re forced to punch his lights out.

“H3Y SORRY, DO YOU H4V3 A BR41LL3 M3NU?”

Well, now you feel kind of shitty, but a girl has to be prepared for creeps. You look around for a Braille menu, but apparently the store owners hadn’t foreseen the possibility of blind customers and are just asking for a lawsuit. “uh. no, but I could tell you what we have?”

He shrugs and you see he’s got a cane with him - a pretty badass cane too, though it’s easily identifiable as a “cane I use to see” and not a “cane I use to pimp”. “OK4Y. WH4T DO YOU H4V3?”

You pause and think. “coffee.”

He scrunches his eyebrows at you and tilts his head. “YOUR3 K1ND OF 4 SM4RT4SS, 4R3NT YOU?”

You shrug and then remember he can’t see you. “i mean. yeah. sorry.”

He smiles ferociously. You feel goosebumps on your arms. “NO 4POLOG13S. T3LL M3 4BOUT YOUR FR4PPUCC1NOS.”

Twenty minutes of descriptions of flavors and special syrups and secret barista styles later, Terezi, as he said his name was, leaves with an ungodly disgusting giant-sized concoction of sugar and cream and coffee that, with all the added extras, ended up costing him $16.73 and could probably kill a small child (either by sugar coma or drowning.) You write your number on his receipt, trying to be subtle, but then you remember he can’t read it and you have to point it out to him. He memorizes your number as you say it and then licks his receipt about where you wrote it down. “T4STY.”

You make a mental note to bring a sword when you go out with this psycho, but otherwise, you’re optimistic.


End file.
